To Dream of Reality
by Jitterbug1
Summary: Draco's dreams lead him somewhere he never expected.
1. The beginning

To Dream of Reality

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing them for the time being. This will be slash. Don't like it? Don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.

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Dreams surely are difficult, confusing, and not everything in them is brought to pass for mankind. For fleeting dreams have two gates: one is fashioned of horn and one of ivory. Those which pass through the one of sawn ivory are deceptive, bringing tidings which come to nought, but those which issue from the one of polished horn bring true results when a mortal sees them. 

Homer (800 BC - 700 BC), The Odyssey

Draco dreams in shades of gray.

The dream starts out the way it always does. He's lost and alone, walking barefoot through the shadows. The location varies from dream to dream; Hogwarts' dungeons, a hedge maze, the labyrinthine halls of Malfoy Manor, empty roads, and occasionally when he's had a really bad week the Forbidden Forest.

His breath is always visible in the cold night air and there's usually something or someone hunting him, shadowing his steps with predatory patience. Of course, sometimes he's simply searching for someone and that's almost worse. He knows he needs whoever he's looking for desperately, but they hide themselves away heartlessly and no matter how meticulously his gaze sweeps over his surroundings he never catches more than a teasing glimpse of them.

This time he's walking through Hogwarts and the ghosts of years gone by go about their business around him, seemingly unaware of the towheaded teenage boy amongst them. He slides through the gaps of the crowd, padding towards some unknown destination in search of some unknown person. The urge to find the hidden one wells up inside until it almost chokes him and his pulse pounds in his temples mercilessly. A translucent woman with dark hair laughs at another ghost's joke and it echoes in the recesses of the hall, mocking him.

Everything is either shadow or light; there is no color among these shades. It's a monochrome memory of an age that Draco never witnessed and the ghosts pay him as much heed as he pays them, which is to say none at all. This time, he comes as closer to finding what he needs than ever before, but he is stopped by the portrait of a cheerful obese woman in a horrid dress.

She has no sense of fashion whatsoever, but Draco is too involved in his never ending search to deliver the cutting, sarcastic comment the situation deserves. "_Password, dearie_?" And it echoes oddly in his skull, washed out and distant like it would be if he was underwater.

_I'm drowning_, he thinks, but cannot say it. 

_I'm drowning, I'm drowning, I'm drowning and there's no way _-

"-out of it, Mr. Malfoy. I said, _snap out of it_, young man." Draco comes to, gasping and blinking, his eyes blinded by the brightness of the candle in McGonagall's grasp. It casts a luminous circle around them, turning the rest of the hall into an impenetrable sea of shadows. McGonagall looks different and it takes a moment to realize why. Her hair is down and she's wearing a robe over her nightclothes, her mouth compressed into a thin line of disapproving worry. 

Draco reels back, stumbling and she steadies him perfunctorily. The stone floor is cold against the bare soles of his feet and oddly comforting. _Just like my dream_, he thinks distantly. "I-what? Where am I? How'd I…?" He shakes his head, pressing against his temple with one hand and tries to figure out what's going on.

"You seem to have wandered your way to Gryffindor Tower, Mr. Malfoy. I'll escort you back to the Slytherin common room." The dream is already fading into blurred images, leaving him perplexed as to what was real and what was not.

"I'm not in trouble?" He asks, still too muddled to be contrary. McGonagall casts him a sharp glance, her eyes softening when she saw the genuine confusion in his face. Snape usually manages to catch him before he walks out of the dungeons and the Potions Master never wakes him up, only guides him back to bed with a paternal patience only Slytherins are allowed to see him display. The fact Draco's been sleepwalking since he was six and still hasn't managed to break his neck is quite surprising, but despite Draco's continued luck Snape dourly predicts that each time will be his last and therefore haunts the corridors in order to prevent any mishaps. 

"The staff is informed of your habit of sleepwalking. Come along, Mr. Malfoy." Draco gives one last glance to the snoring fat woman over his shoulder, the sensation that he's missing something causing goosebumps to rise on his arms. It is on the edge of his brain and if he concentrates on it for just a little while longer he'll remember that -

"Don't dally now." And it's gone. Draco follows her, yawning and wondering if he'd startled the Transfiguration teacher with his presence. He'd made his mother scream in fright once, having snuck up on her in the dead of night. He grins sleepily at the memory and lets McGonagall escort him back with passiveness uncharacteristic of him.

It was just a dream, just the dream_ I'm_ _drowning_ that he always has.


	2. The middle

To Dream of Reality

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm still borrowing them. And it's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it. Now on to the fic. Enjoy. 

The dream comes again two days later.

And this time he's truly alone, no ghosts, just slithering shadows he can only see out of the corners of his eyes to keep him company. He is wandering the halls of Malfoy Manor and the portraits of his ancestors are hanging upon the walls. They aren't moving though, frozen into stillness like a Muggle picture. The odd lack of movement makes him shiver. He passes Uncle Mortimer and Great, Great Grandfather Augustus as well as Grandmother Margaret whose fan is frozen in mid air, blowing a silver curl out of place from her usually perfect coif.

He slinks past the main stairs and the drawing room, towards the North Wing because throughout the whole house it looks as if only the house elves have been here in recent years. Dusty sheets are draped over the furnishings, lending room after abandoned room an eerie air. Despite the thick layers of dust, the air doesn't smell musty. It smells fresh and clean with the underlying scent of beeswax.

He winds his way upstairs and down, through secret passages and over moving stairs. Parts of the Manor are strange and different than memory dictates; he walks right through a wall, but thinks nothing of it. The soles of his bare feet are chilled and his footsteps disturb the dust, sending it into eddies around his ankles. He is searching again, searching for that elusive presence that was always hidden from him no matter how hard he looked. He catches a quick glimpse of a moving figure out of the corner of his eye and sets off after it. This isn't a shadow, but the hidden one, ducking out of sight once more. His heart pounding in his chest, Draco sets off at a run, skidding around a corner and up a flight of stairs. _Wait_ he wants to shout. _Don't go, don't leave me all alone. Wait damn you_, he wants to bellow out in frustration, but he is incapable of shattering the silence. 

He always is.

He finds himself in the conservatory, among the potted plants that his mother cultivates carefully with a loving hand. The marigolds are blooming while all the other flowers have withered to dry husks, despite the fact Narcissa would never stand for it. Draco stalks towards the side door that leads out into the grounds and opens it, watching with bleak hopelessness as the figure slips soundlessly away into the gardens, but not before giving him a jaunty, mocking wave. _Don't leave me. Don't leave me here by myself. Please, please come back. Please-_

"-wake up! _Malfoy_! Damn it!"

"What do you think is wrong with him?"

"He looks to be sleepwalking. It _is_ more prevalent among boys than girls, but it's more common between the ages of eleven and twelve. He's almost seventeen, he should have grown out of it by now, though there are exceptions of course." 

"Of course. You would know, wouldn't you?"

"Don't be like that Ron. I wish you would-"

"Hey, he woke up!"

Draco's eyelashes flutter and once his gaze focuses he sees that he is surrounded by worried faces. He shakes off the hands steadying him and takes a step back, eyes widening with panic at being hemmed in so thoroughly. "Give him some room." The crowd shuffles back obediently at the quiet command and Draco turns to see Harry Potter watching him with a piercing, green gaze. His wild black hair is even messier than usual and the familiar ugly spectacles are perched crookedly on his nose. "Alright, Malfoy?"

"I'm fine, Potter." He says tiredly, his brain too sleep addled to tint his words with the familiar distaste so often employed in Potter's presence.

Potter watches him quietly, observing him with those brilliant Avada Kedavra green eyes. Draco glances uncomfortably away from the other boy and looks around, surprised at his location. He is standing outside of the portrait of the fat lady again, but this time it's hanging wide open. The room inside is decorated in red and gold and Draco suddenly realizes it's the Gryffindor common room. Wary of the commotion drawing McGonagall again, he simply turns and walks away, the whole of Gryffindor House gawking at his back as he stalks back into the darkness. 

He's realized something this time, some truth that has previously been out of his reach; He just doesn't know what it is yet.


	3. The end

To Dream of Reality

Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm still borrowing them. And it's still slash. Don't like it? Don't read it. Now on to the fic. Enjoy. 

He's being stalked this time.

It's a change of pace, being the hunted instead of the hunter. He's glad there is no melancholy loneliness this time, but the fear that makes his heart pound against his ribs in a staccato rhythm is no better. The tang of desperation coats the back of his throat, and Draco dashes through the Forest as quickly as he can. His breath is coming so fast the misty plumes it causes are almost constant in the frigid night air.

Draco ducks under a low branch and scrambles over a fallen tree, searching for a path that isn't there. He needs to find his way, but there's no time. The inky beast behind him cackles so that the hair on the nape of his neck rises, but in the next moment it's gone again. Thankful of the momentary respite, Draco crashes through the underbrush, hesitating when he sees a footstep on the bank of a nearby stream. It's filling up with water and it glistens under the waning moon. He doesn't know who it could possibly belong to, but it's a sign of human life nevertheless.

He follows the footsteps, winding his way through the wood without a second thought. Now he's both predator and prey. _This is new_, he thinks to himself, but he can't quite recall how. He's getting flashes of the figure in front of him as well as glimpses of the shadowy dark demon behind him. He ignores the beast and follows the other, watching carefully for each detail revealed. A flash of light refracting off something, a hint of a lean body before the other ducks out of sight, and a flicker of green which rivets Draco's attention. _Color_ he thinks, awed. _But there's no color here._

He follows close on their heels, winding through thickets and meadows alike and heeding every beckoning gesture made. The demon behind him falls further and further behind with every step until it's just the two of them; Draco and his mysterious hidden one. 

They end up near the lake, though Draco has never before made it out of the Forbidden Forest. Not that he minds and he looks around with smile on his face at the open sky and glittering gray water. The other is a boy, like him, with tousled black hair and somber green eyes that are dazzling in comparison to the shades of black and white around them. 

Draco steps forward and the other boy stills with a tiny smile, letting him approach at his own pace. He should know this boy, but the memory is a distant one he can't quite recall because all that matters is now. The hidden one, _not so hidden now _he thinks smugly, has lead him out of the forest and rescued him from evil. Draco trusts him, because Draco knows him. He's followed this boy all his life, though he's never been able to catch him.

He steps closer until his body is pressed against the other's lean frame and he is startled at the warmth emanating from him. A slim, pale hand rests on the other boy's cheek and Draco leans in, parting his lips to lick at the other boy's mouth because he's finally caught him and a winner needs a prize, doesn't he? Slick, soft, and warm, the other mouth parts and Draco tangles his tongue with the other's, content to battle it out in the confines of their mouths. The boy holds Draco's hips firmly and the Slytherin presses forward eagerly, rocking his hips against the other boy's and their bodies mesh so sweetly they might as well have been made with the other in mind.

A gentle moan vibrates in his chest and the other boy is making tiny needy sounds that are sending sparks of pleasure straight to Draco's crotch. _This feels so good, _he thinks. _So, so good and just like that oh Harry_-

"Harry, mmm." He mumbles against the other boys lips and blinks, startled to see that he is indeed tangled in the other boy's arms. He steps back, though only a bit because Potter still has his arms around him, and stares in shock at the swollen lips of his rival and the way the other boy's eyes are dilated with arousal. "Potter?"

"Oh, uh. Malfoy. I can explain! I was on my way to the kitchens and then you were just walking up to me and-"

Draco shuts him up with another kiss, making sure to grind himself against Potter's hardness while ravishing the Gryffindors mouth. Because after all they can do more interesting things with their mouths than bicker and fling nasty insults. Potter seems to agree, letting Draco pin him against the wall as they writhe together unashamedly. Their kisses grow more intense and frantic, tongues twining with desperation as their hips work against each other in a frenzy. The wet sounds of their kisses and moans is an erotic soundtrack that pushes them that much closer to the edge. Draco tugs at their pajama bottoms, sighing against Harry's mouth when their cocks are finally aligned, heads wet and messy, nudging and thrusting alongside each other so perfectly his toes curl. 

Harry breaks off their kiss in favor of sucking at the curve of Draco's neck and his earlobe, leaving red marks on the pale ivory of his skin. It's perfection, absolutely wonderful, and Draco's cursing himself for taking so long to figure it out because they could have been doing this all along. Harry finally gasps, and bites down on the tiny dip of the other boy's collar bone, wet warmth soaking Draco as he comes. Draco mewls, though he will never admit it, and arches against Harry. The world falls away for several moments of eternity as the pleasure sizzles along his spine. He drifts slowly back into reality, clinging to Harry limply as they lean against the wall and its so comfortable he never wants to move again. Draco nuzzles the Gryffindor's neck without a second thought and is gratified when Potter _Harry now_ tightens his arms around him. He presses his smiling lips against Harry's neck, closing his eyes at how perfectly right it feels.

And Draco knows that from now on he'll be dreaming in color.


End file.
